Seven
by Carlough
Summary: One-shot with cracky-themes. Prowl is proactive, Smokescreen hates numbers, Bluestreak is impressionable, and Barricade just wants to recharge, or why Smokescreen believes that numbers have no use and are unnecessary.


**This is a really stupid, pointless idea that I had for a one-shot. People are OOC, and it could very well be called a crack-fic.**

**Basically, Barricade, Prowl, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak are brothers. In human terms, Blue would be about four or five, Smokey's twelve or thirteen, Prowl's around twenty-one and Cade would be twenty-three. Their creators are dead. And uh..., that's all you really need to know! I apologize for how crappy this is, but it would be nice if you reviewed.**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own anything except for the situation.**

* * *

"Smokey?" Big blue optics stared up imploringly at their elder brother.

"Yeah Blue?"

"Can you help me with my numbers?"

Smokescreen stared at his younger brother. Bluestreak was the youngest of his brothers, the only one younger than he was. So young, in fact, that he had yet to have any form of formal education. Prowl, being Prowl, wanted his youngest brother to get an early start on his education and had been teaching him numbers and letters. While Prowl wasn't there, he expected his other brothers to assist in Blue's education. Considering that Barricade wasn't home often due to his job working security for some big company, that responsibility fell to Smokescreen.

The only problem with that was Smokescreen's own particular... _distaste_ for numbers.

For some odd, unknown reason, the third of the four brothers had an unnatural hatred for numbers. Not math, just numbers. This lead for many _interesting_ arguments with his teachers, and more than a few punishments from his older brothers. Well, Prowl, really. Barricade, the oldest, thought it was funny; Prowl was outraged and often tried and failed to understand why his brother so disliked any sort of numeral.

Some would think that the young mech would simply refuse to help his brother with his numbers; however, he saw it as a chance to spread his particular hatred for all things numerical to the young, malleable mind of his brother.

"Sure, Blue. So what's our big bro got you doing?" Smokescreen asked slyly, though his _totally inconspicuous_ tone was really ruined by his giant, manic, slightly insane looking grin.

"Prowl tells me to say the numbers, and then he tells me if I messed them up. Sometimes he'll put things out and tell me to count them."

"Okay, uh...how about you list the numbers up to ten?"

"Okay!" Bluestreak shuttered his optics tightly in concentration. The face he made was so adorable that it could have thawed even the most frigid of sparks.

"One, two, three, four, um... five, six, seven..."

"EH!" Smokescreen made a noise that was somewhat reminiscent of a buzzer going off. "Wrong, all wrong!"

Bluestreak looked like he might cry. His lower lip jutted out. "B-but... Prowl said..."

Quick to ward off his brother's crying, Smokescreen said, "No, no, I didn't mean that you were wrong; I just meant that Prowl and everyone else is wrong, too. They're teaching you the wrong stuff."

"Prowl's never wrong," said Blue with absolute conviction.

"Well, he is this time, 'cause none of those numbers you just listed matter."

"What?"

"They don't matter. You see bro, they're pointless. Especially seven; I really hate the number seven. It has no meaning whatsoever. We could live our whole lives and not need to know the number seven, or any other number, for that matter."

"What if you want to count seven things?"

"Why would you want to count anything? Counting is stupid."

Blue looked aghast. With big optics he mumbled, "But Prowl said-"

"Yeah, yeah, forget what Prowl said. Prowl says a lot of things. You just gotta learn to block him out, like I do! Now, where was I...? Oh yeah! If you want to get anywhere in life, then you can't use numbers. Numbers are pointless, and I foresee a numberless future, so your best bet is to unlearn your numbers."

"Unlearn them?"

"Oh yeah. It's easy. Just concentrate on forgetting them. Then you'll be just as cool as I am!"

Bluestreak, like all sparklings, hero-worshipped his older brothers, and wanted to be just like them. Naturally, he took his brother's advice and began, um, _unlearning._

* * *

Barricade entered the home that he had shared with his three younger brothers since their creators had died. Tiredly, he slumped into the main room of their humble abode, which was really more of a small slum-ish place in a not-so-nice neighborhood that they could barely afford with both Barricade and Prowl's paychecks. Right now, the only thing on his processors was the thought of his nice, cozy berth and a well-deserved recharge.

Entering the main room, he saw his littlest brother sitting in the middle of the floor with his tiny fists clenched and his optics shuttered tightly, in deep concentration. Considering how tired he was, Barricade was really inclined to just leave him be; alas, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Uh, Blue? What are you doing?"

Bluestreak's optics shot open. "Hi Cade! I'm unlearning my numbers."

Cade slanted him a look. This had Smokescreen written all over it. "Uh-huh. And why are you doing that?"

"'Cause Smokey told me to." Of course he did.

"Mhmm. Yeah. I'll, uh, talk to you later."

"Okay! I'm gonna keep unlearning."

"You do that." With that, Barricade left the room, shaking his helm in confusion and thinking about letting Prowl deal with this one.

He entered Smokescreen's room. "Unlearning numbers?" he asked without prelude.

"Yep! I think it's working."

Yeah, he was _definitely_ letting Prowl deal with this one.


End file.
